I am forcing myself to write about this
because it is much, much harder for me,
but I left the table with conversations
that I could not really listen to, anyway,
because this is on my mind
and this poem is itching in my fingers.
A weeks worth of deciding, actually done in a week.
It’s done now, I guess, at least in this specific form.
I am sad.
Sad because I was so, so on board at the end, but it was too late.
It feels like I have to go through this change, I just started to slowly prepare for, anyway,
but differently and I don’t know how.
